<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>songs, to aging children come by julietcapulet</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27807685">songs, to aging children come</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/julietcapulet/pseuds/julietcapulet'>julietcapulet</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Haunting of Hill House (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, You're Welcome, here is the Shirley/Kevin fic nobody asked for</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 16:42:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,790</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27807685</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/julietcapulet/pseuds/julietcapulet</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>her heart is full and hollow</i>
</p><p>A character study of Shirley Crain Harris.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eleanor "Nell" Crain &amp; Shirley Crain, Luke Crain &amp; Shirley Crain, Olivia Crain &amp; Shirley Crain, Shirley Crain &amp; Steven Crain, Shirley Crain &amp; Theodora "Theo" Crain, Shirley Crain/Kevin Harris</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>songs, to aging children come</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><b>A/N:</b> So this show wrecked me and after not being able to think about literally anything else since I watched it four weeks ago I decided to write a character study of the fandom's least favorite Crain sister because that's just my brand. Enjoy my overuse of the em dash and parentheses and also keep in mind that this fic is designed to be a sort of nonlinear free-fall through some of Shirley's memories, because #confetti. Title and summary quote credit goes to the incomparable Joni Mitchell, who certainly looked into the future at this Netflix series and went on to write much of her body of work about Shirley Crain Harris, specifically. I said what I said.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Shirley stops taking pictures after that summer.</p><p> </p><p>She used to think she could freeze a moment if she took its picture. She could even hold it in her hands. And really, that was the best part: not the freezing, but the holding. Crisp photo paper between her fingers, names and dates scratched with no uncertain permanence on the underside. And if she held it tight enough she could trap the memory between her hands. She’d never have to let it go if she didn’t want to.</p><p> </p><p>(She never wanted to.)</p><p> </p><p>Shirley had to let a lot of things go that summer. Maybe because she didn’t hold them tight enough. So she held tighter to the things that were left. She skipped freezing them altogether and went straight to the holding, digging her claws in instead. </p><p> </p><p>She kept the camera anyway, though. Of course she kept the camera.</p><p> </p><p>“You should use it again,” Aunt Janet tells her one day, years after Shirley had resolved to forget the thing, having uncovered it from within the field of boxes that had grown in her room overnight that last week before she moved out. “You have a talent, you know. You should use it.” She holds the camera in her hands, brushing the dust away as if that would fix it. Shirley knows how to fix things— that’s what she is going to school for— and that means she also knows when things can’t be fixed.</p><p> </p><p>(Like when Dad had gone back for her albums. She wished he hadn’t. That’s her secret.)</p><p> </p><p>“It’s broken,” is all Shirley says, and she isn’t talking about the camera.</p><p> </p><p>Aunt Janet doesn’t suggest it again.</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>He’s a business major, which makes sense to her. It makes sense, Shirley thinks, because he has suddenly made everything about her his business.</p><p> </p><p>For the weeks following their first encounter at the library Shirley has been running into the transfer student somewhat too serendipitously for her tastes. First the student center, then the bookstore, now the elevator of the dorm building in which they both apparently resided. Serendipity.</p><p> </p><p>(Except calling it “serendipity”  implies that Shirley is happy to keep bumping into him, and she isn’t. <em> Isn’t</em>.)</p><p> </p><p>(He’s distracting in the worst of ways, but most of all in the way he makes her <em> want </em> to be distracted.)</p><p> </p><p>The elevator doors shut and before the small talk can start she rounds on him.</p><p> </p><p>“So— so what am I, then, just some figure to you? I mean it, Kevin, just— some variable in an equation you’re trying to solve? You’re just everywhere all of the sudden and you want to know everything about me and what <em> is </em> that, anyway? Are you trying to figure out my budget or— or whatever it is business majors do?” </p><p> </p><p>“Actually,” he tells her after a pause, hands shoved awkwardly in his pockets as he rocks back on his heels and casts her a sidelong look, “I’ve kind of been trying to flirt with you.”</p><p> </p><p>Oh.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh.” It’s all Shirley says because she’s caught off guard and she hates being caught off guard, and it’s the hate in the equation that makes her bite back, “Well. You’re pretty bad at it.” (Because even Shirley’s happiness has claws, and even her joy has teeth.)</p><p> </p><p>He laughs, shrugs. “So are you.” </p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t bother correcting him (she hasn’t been trying to flirt).</p><p> </p><p>She smiles and a door unlocks inside her chest.</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>“Kevin? What are you doing here?”</p><p> </p><p>“I was thinking about our conversation earlier, and I didn’t want you to be alone with your bad memories tonight,” Kevin tells her after she opens the door to her apartment to find him standing there with a painfully warm smile and an awkwardly overburdened plastic bag. “Candy,” he explains, lifting it a little. “I didn’t know which ones you liked so I, uh, got them all. But— if you <em> want </em> to be alone,” Kevin scrambles to amend, backtracking awkwardly in the wake of Shirley’s silence, “I— I can go. And I can— you know, leave the candy. Or take it. I don’t— actually know if you like candy, I just thought— ”</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up,” Shirley says, rolling her eyes. She doesn’t thank him even though she wants to. Instead she says, matter-of-factly, “You can stay,” and leaves the door open, waiting for him to follow. And then she adds, over her shoulder, “The candy can stay too.”</p><p> </p><p>Later they’re sitting side by side on her couch with the bag of candy between them and Shirley finds herself blurting, suddenly, “It isn’t about the bad ones, you know. Somehow the bad ones are easier.”</p><p> </p><p>Kevin is silent, watching her. She isn’t surprised. Shirley’s never talked to him like this in the year or so that he’s known her and she doesn’t know why she’s doing it now, only that she’s never had someone with her on the anniversary of that night, before, never like this, and he had looked at her with those eyes that seem to hold the keys to doors inside her that she didn’t even know were locked, and then— </p><p> </p><p>—and then one of them opened.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s the good ones,” she says softly, softer than she ever allows herself to be. “The good ones are the heaviest. And I carry them all the time, and I can never set them down, and they’re the heaviest this time of year— they’re the heaviest right now. And I just find myself asking: what do I do with them?” Shirley turns to look at him, eyes wet. “Where do I put the good ones?” </p><p> </p><p>It’s quiet for a moment as he looks at her and Shirley swears he can feel it, too, somehow: this weight.</p><p> </p><p>“You know,” Kevin starts, holding her gaze as he reaches out and gently squeezes her hand, “I can help you carry them, when they get too heavy. If you want.”</p><p> </p><p>Shirley doesn’t say anything else. </p><p> </p><p>(She wants to.)</p><p> </p><p>Her throat tightens and she just squeezes back instead.</p><p> </p><p>(Tomorrow she’ll be embarrassed that she let him in like this but not tonight, not tonight.)</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>“Wow. This is really good,” Kevin observes, a note of breathless reverence in his tone as he surveys Shirley’s work for the first time in person. She’s putting in overtime at her apprenticeship, as usual, but Mr. Sanderson finally let her work her first job alone and she is going to get it right if it takes her all night.</p><p> </p><p>“You shouldn’t be down here,” Shirley says, but there’s none of her usual bite. She wants him here. She wants him to see her in her element.</p><p> </p><p>(No, she corrects herself: it’s more than that. Bigger than that. Her element isn’t the death but the <em> after</em>. And, really, the fixing after life is less her element than it is her <em> responsibility</em>.)</p><p> </p><p>(That she wants him here scares her.)</p><p> </p><p>“Alright, alright, I’ll leave. But honestly, Shirley, this is amazing. You have a real gift. I mean it. You’re an artist.”</p><p> </p><p>Artist.</p><p> </p><p>Shirley’s ears hitch on that word and it catches in her brain like the breath in her throat. She stills. <em> Artist</em>. And there he goes again, Kevin with his keys and Shirley with her locks. </p><p> </p><p>“Wait,” she manages. </p><p> </p><p>His hand lingers on the door. He stays his pace and turns around at the command but he doesn’t say anything, just looks at her with those Kevin eyes and suddenly she needs it more than anything in the entire world, she needs her camera.</p><p> </p><p>But she doesn’t have it. It’s tucked away in a box in her apartment, the one with all the things she won’t unpack, so she takes her gloves off and grabs her flip phone from her back pocket instead because it will have to do, and—</p><p> </p><p>“What’s— ”</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Shirley tells him, “just. Don’t say anything for a second.”</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t, and she takes a picture. </p><p> </p><p>It’s the first memory she’s wanted to freeze in years and she knows, even as she’s living in it, that she wants to hold it in her hands.</p><p> </p><p>It, and him. </p><p> </p><p>She crosses the distance between them, swift and deliberate, and crowds into his personal space, looking up at him with a question in her eyes— one that he answers with a nod and a lopsided smile that she swears he made up just for her. Her own lips curve into a mirror of that smile and she hooks her hands around his neck to pull him down to her for a kiss. </p><p> </p><p>(He doesn’t just hold the keys to the doors inside her, Shirley realizes: he <em> is </em> the key. He is every single one of them.)</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>“Shit,” Theo says, dragging in a tense breath between clenched teeth. She hazards a glance at Shirley and expels the breath in a ragged puff. “Have you told Kevin?” </p><p> </p><p>Shirley’s hands tangle together like the knots in her stomach. She doesn’t look at Theo. “No. Because he’s going to be happy and I’m,” she says, “not.” </p><p> </p><p>Theo nods and drops her gaze. “So what are you gonna do?”</p><p> </p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p> </p><p>Theo stands up and takes a step toward Shirley, crossing her arms over her chest and raising her brows meaningfully. “I mean: what are you gonna do?”</p><p> </p><p>Shirley blinks. Considers. “Do it better, I guess.” Her hand drifts subconsciously to her abdomen. “I’ll just have to do it better than they did.” </p><p> </p><p>Theo scoffs, shakes her head. “Right.”</p><p> </p><p>“What?” Shirley presses, hackles rising. “There is no other option, Theo.”</p><p> </p><p>Theo crosses back to the couch and sinks heavily into it. “When are you gonna tell him?”</p><p> </p><p>(She’s redirecting and Shirley knows it but takes the bait for once anyway because she doesn’t want to fight. There’s no room for anger anymore.)</p><p> </p><p>(Shirley is just scared.)</p><p> </p><p>She comes and sits next to her on the couch but she still doesn’t look at her, especially not as she says, “I don’t know.” A pause. And then, “I can do it. I can do it better. I can. Even if it’s sooner than I would have liked. Even if I’m not ready.” Shirley looks at Theo then, eyes broken and searching. “Right?”</p><p> </p><p>Shirley has never felt so small.</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>The first time it happens is when Shirley is six months pregnant.</p><p> </p><p>She’s asleep (she thinks) and she’s dreaming that she’s standing in her bathroom washing her face before bed and when she looks up her mother’s face is there in the mirror where hers should be. Shirley reaches up and touches it, touches her own face, but it’s not hers anymore. (Is it?) It is and it isn’t and it even feels like Olivia’s, it even smells like Olivia’s perfume. And then her hand (no, her mother’s hand) travels lower and lower, until it’s resting on the swell of her belly, and the look in her eyes (no, in her mother’s eyes) holds a feral sort of warmth that sends a chill down her spine and she (<em>mommy</em>) says, “Michael.” The name she’s chosen for a boy even though they agreed, they’re waiting— waiting to be surprised, but there she is, saying— “Oh, Shirley. He’s <em> perfect</em>.” </p><p> </p><p>“Mom?” Shirley says, and it’s a question she must have asked out loud because she blinks and she’s in bed, and she takes a breath and she’s awake. Mattress beneath her and blankets above and Kevin just there beside her, awake now too.</p><p> </p><p>“You okay?” Kevin says, hand on her arm. “You were talking in your sleep.” </p><p> </p><p>Shirley nods absently. “Just a dream,” she reassures him. She rolls over and closes her eyes, and his hand on her stomach is a comforting weight until it isn’t, until it’s pressing just a little too hard, but when she slides her own hand under the covers to move his she stills, blood like ice in her veins. </p><p> </p><p>There’s nothing there.</p><p> </p><p>(<em>She has to do better</em>.)</p><p> </p><p>Shirley closes her eyes and reminds herself to do better. She closes her eyes and reminds herself that there is nothing there. </p><p> </p><p>(There never was.)</p><p> </p><p>She calls Theo in the morning anyway. </p><p> </p><p>“I had a dream about mom,” she confesses, the cool air of the morgue oddly soothing as she paces its length back and forth. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re calling me at seven thirty in the morning on a Saturday because you had a dream about mom,” Theo deadpans. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re right,” Shirley bites back, immediately defensive, “this was stupid. Forget it. Goodbye, Theodora.”</p><p> </p><p>“No, no, wait— Shirl,” Theo groans and Shirley can practically hear her rolling her eyes. “Sorry. It’s early. Okay?” She clears her throat, takes a deep breath. “What was the dream about?”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not— it’s not what it was <em> about</em>. It’s just,” she trails off and bites her lip before continuing, voice stilted. She doesn’t want to be vulnerable but she is and she fucking hates it and she tries not to take that hate out on Theo. “Do you think it’s something to worry about? I mean— do you,” she stops again, her breath a shaky inhale before she continues, “do you think it’s a bad sign? In your professional opinion.” </p><p> </p><p>Theo laughs but it’s dry and joyless. “In my professional opinion as an undergraduate psychology student,” she says, not ungently, “I think it’s just a dream.” </p><p> </p><p>Shirley has more <em> just dreams</em>. </p><p> </p><p>And Shirley doesn’t tell anyone. </p><p> </p><p>(But even though they’re just dreams she still tells Kevin to choose another name when their son is born because he can’t be Michael.)</p><p> </p><p>(He can’t be Michael.)</p><p> </p><p>“Are you sure?” Kevin asks her from his place next to her in the hospital bed. He presses a kiss to her forehead and she aches. </p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” Shirley tells him, emphatically. “Yes, for the millionth time, Kevin, I’m sure. I want you to.” </p><p> </p><p>Kevin chuckles and mumbles something about how she might regret this later once the meds wear off but, to his credit, supplies a name. “How about Jayden?” He’s trying to sound casual but Shirley can hear the hope in his voice. How much did this name mean to him? And how had she overlooked that? “I’ve always liked Jayden,” he says. </p><p> </p><p>“Jayden,” Shirley echoes, looking down at the little boy in her arms and then up at her husband beside her. She feels safe. She tries it again. “Jayden.” Her eyes cloud with tears and her heart is so full it could burst. “It’s perfect.” </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah?” Kevin asks, blinking back tears of his own. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Shirley manages, and she means it.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re perfect. And so is he.”</p><p> </p><p>(She doesn’t think about her mother in the mirror, or how she had said the same thing.)</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>“Make sure Luke doesn’t forget his lunch. You have to pack his lunches for him or he’ll forget. And if he forgets his lunch he just won’t eat, so make sure you remember to pack it and make sure he doesn’t forget it. Okay?”</p><p> </p><p>“Shirley, you’re going to college, not— "</p><p> </p><p>“And don’t forget to remind Steve to call once in a while. He always forgets to call and Nellie always notices. I would do it myself but I’m not sure what my course load will look like first semester and if he isn’t reminded he forgets. So you have to remind him, okay? Just in case I can’t.”</p><p> </p><p>“Shirley, I— "</p><p> </p><p>“And for Theo, this is really important: you have to always ask her about her day. She won’t answer you because she never answers me but one day she might so you have to keep asking, you have to make sure you keep asking so that the day she’s ready to talk about her day is a day that you asked her how it was. It’s important. Okay? <em> Okay</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay. Okay, Shirley. Alright. Come here,” Aunt Janet says, placating, as she tugs Shirley into a hug. It’s awkward. It’s always awkward with Aunt Janet because the hugs Janet gives are the hugs Shirley really wants from someone who can’t give them anymore. “You’ll be home for the holidays before you know it,” she reminds her, “and I’ll try to keep everyone in one piece until then.” The poor attempt at humor makes Shirley wince and she’s glad her face is out of sight. </p><p> </p><p>“Thank you,” Shirley says, trying to sound relieved even though she isn’t. </p><p> </p><p>The truth is Shirley has been helping Aunt Janet take care of her family ever since their mother’s funeral. The truth is Shirley isn’t sure Aunt Janet can take care of everyone without her. </p><p> </p><p>(She can’t. Shirley knows she can’t.) </p><p> </p><p>(But she goes to college anyway and she can’t help but feel it’s the most selfish thing she’s ever done.)</p><p> </p><p>(Well. Almost.)</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t know why. </p><p> </p><p>(Because she became a mother and a business owner in the wrong order.)</p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t know why. </p><p> </p><p>(Because of the bills and because of the pressure and the screaming and the crying and because of the budget meetings and the— )</p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t know why.</p><p> </p><p>(Because she forgot about it all for a second— just for a second— and in that one second of forgetting the monster that had been sitting on her chest since she was twelve years old finally stirred, stretched, and left, and Shirley, as if uncomfortable without its crushing weight, had no choice but to invite another monster to take its place.)</p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t know why. </p><p> </p><p>But she does it. She does it and no matter how many times she replays it in her head she does it every time and she doesn’t know why. </p><p> </p><p>What she does know is that when it’s done she puts her clothes back on and leaves his room and it’s almost uncanny how well she’s able to keep it together, how convincingly she’s able to play this part. </p><p> </p><p>Shirley waits until after she’s closed and locked the door to her room behind her before she slams herself against it and breaks. She sinks to her knees under the weight of what she’s done and her breaths come in short, irregular gasps and she’s staring staring staring at her shaking hands and she doesn’t know who she is. </p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t know who she fucking is. </p><p> </p><p>(Or maybe this is who she’s always been.)</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, <em> Shirley</em>.” </p><p> </p><p>The sound comes from somewhere inside her head (it has to) and Shirley blinks and it’s her mother, just for a second— for a flicker of a second— it’s Olivia’s face in front of her own looking at her with such sorrow and such love in her eyes and it’s the <em> love </em>that makes Shirley want to scream so she does, she screams, and then it’s done. She only allows herself to be broken for a moment before she’s already stitching herself back together like one of her clients, before she’s getting in the tub and showering under water so blisteringly hot that she hopes she burns it all away, burns every fucking cell away and melts the skin off her fucking bones so that she can grow back into the skin of the person she’s supposed to be, the person who wouldn’t have done this, the person who would have walked away. </p><p> </p><p>(She will never be clean again.)</p><p> </p><p>Shirley tells herself later that it was a dream. All of this was just one of her dreams because it has to be.</p><p> </p><p>(She buries it deep and tells herself it’s a dream and she almost believes it, for years she almost believes it, even when she doesn’t wake up.) </p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>Shirley doesn’t need an undergraduate degree to become a mortician but she wants the competitive edge that a bachelor’s degree in biology with a minor in psychology could give her— and, perhaps more importantly than that, she wants a backup plan (she <em> needs </em> a backup plan). She doesn’t intend to do anything else with her life but having a degree would give her that <em> just in case </em> insurance, so she seeks it out, so she earns a scholarship and she gets her <em> just in case</em>.</p><p> </p><p>And then she’s sitting in her introductory psych class one day and her professor is talking about the phenomenon called<em> intrusive thoughts </em> that something clicks inside Shirley’s head and she thinks to herself, that’s it.</p><p> </p><p>(As if that is the answer to all the questions she’s been asking herself every day since they left the house.)</p><p> </p><p>(It’s a better answer than any her father could have ever given her.)</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>“Honey, this is amazing. You’re an artist, did you know that?”</p><p> </p><p>Shirley grins, glowing from her mother’s praise. “I just thought it would be a good angle,” she says, peeking at the photograph now held in her mother’s hand. “Unexpected, I guess.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hugh, come look at this,” Olivia calls to him from across the room and Shirley’s heart swells as he stops what he’s doing to join them in the foyer. “Look at this picture Shirley took of the garden. Look how she captured the sunlight streaming right through this statue’s hand.” Olivia studies it like she’s seeing it for the first time all over again through her husband’s eyes and Shirley can’t remember a time she’s ever felt so proud (maybe that’s why this one hurts the most to remember, years later). “Amazing,” Olivia declares again, eyes bright.</p><p> </p><p>“Wow,” Hugh agrees, taking the picture from Olivia’s hands to get a better look at it. His eyes carry that same spark, that same brightness, as his wife’s, and Shirley is momentarily blinded by the glistering brilliance that seems to belong to only them. “This is great, Shirl,” he tells her. A beat as he considers, then shares a look with Olivia. “You know, I think we should use this in the listing. I’m serious— it’s perfect.” </p><p> </p><p>“Really?” Shirley asks, dizzied with delight. “I mean— are you sure?”</p><p> </p><p>Hugh nods and Olivia looks for a moment as if she is fighting the impulse to reach for Shirley, to maybe brush a strand of hair behind her ear or, better yet, maybe to take back time and tuck her under her arm into one of the hugs they used to share before Shirley had grown up much too fast and Shirley, looking back on it now, wishes she wouldn’t have done that, wishes she wouldn’t have grown up so fast. Shirley wishes, looking back on it now (on this one, on <em> this </em> one specifically), that she might have slowed down long enough to notice how much Olivia had wanted to reach for her. And Shirley wishes that she would have let her.</p><p> </p><p>God damn it, but she wishes that she would have let her.</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>Kevin’s silent for a long time but he doesn’t let go of her hand and Shirley forces herself to look (not at her feet, not at their hands, but at him, at <em> him</em>). </p><p> </p><p>“That’s a pretty heavy thing to carry,” he says after a while, his voice barely above a whisper as he struggles audibly to keep it steady. “All these years, that’s— ” he falters, sighs. “That’s heavy.” He sniffs, fidgets. “And I’m not gonna lie, Shirley, it’s— I mean, I’m gonna need— ” Kevin breaks off to clear his throat before continuing. “But I’m glad you told me,” he tells her softly, softer than she thinks she deserves, “because now,” he squeezes her hand, determined and firm, “at least we can carry it together.”</p><p> </p><p>Shirley doesn’t know what to say. She stares at him and she hurts. She hurts she hurts she hurts (but she isn’t afraid anymore, and what does she do with herself now that Kevin has chased away that monster on her chest, what does she— ). </p><p> </p><p>“Okay?” Kevin prompts suddenly, shocking her out of her stunned silence.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you sure?” Shirley asks him, voice small, thin. And Kevin nods so Shirley says, “Okay,” and means it. “Okay,” she says again, and squeezes his hand back.</p><p> </p><p>(And the last locked door within herself stubbornly, finally, begins to open.)</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>“Wait, wait. I thought you wanted to study accounting,” Shirley says over the noise of the sink as she stands in Janet’s kitchen washing dishes after Thanksgiving dinner. </p><p> </p><p>“I did,” Nell tells her, drying the wet plate Shirley handed her. “I <em> do</em>,” she amends. “But, I dunno, I just think it’s a good idea to keep my options open, you know?”</p><p> </p><p>“Going in undeclared is risky,” Shirley, who hates risks, warns her.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, sure. Yeah, I mean— I know, but— ”</p><p> </p><p>“This sounds like one of Luke’s ideas,” she mutters the observation almost under her breath and wastes no time to cut Nell off before she can jump to their brother’s defense. “You can always change your major if you absolutely have to. But I don’t think going in undeclared is a good idea, Nellie. I just don’t.” She’s scrubbing aggressively now as the anxiety builds. “College is too expensive for risks like that.”</p><p> </p><p>Nell knows when to stop with Shirley so she does, she stops, and Shirley thinks it means that maybe she’s made an impact on her sister until Steve finds her later and tells her, “You gotta let them live their own lives, Shirl.”</p><p> </p><p>“Even when they’re doing it wrong?” Shirley presses, voice flat.</p><p> </p><p>Steve lets out a laugh that’s more like a sigh and shakes his head. “Maybe especially then. People have to make mistakes: it’s a fact. But they’ll be fine, Shirley. Even if you’re not looking. That’s a fact too.”</p><p> </p><p>Shirley scoffs. “Is that what you do, Steve? Just— not look, and hope everything will work out in the end?” Steve shrugs in response and Shirley feels the chasm between them widen. “I’m not like that,” she tells him. “I have to look.”</p><p> </p><p>“You can’t live their lives for them. That’s all I’m saying.” Steve leans against the kitchen cabinet with a relaxed kind of confidence that only comes from his particular brand of ignorance. “It’ll be fine.”</p><p> </p><p>It isn’t fine.</p><p> </p><p>It isn’t fine when Nell calls Shirley crying two months into her first semester at the University of Massachusetts Amherst because accounting “doesn’t feel like her” and then a month later when communications “doesn’t feel like her” either and then again six months after that when computer science “doesn’t feel like her” and she isn’t sure <em>anything</em> “feels like her” anymore because she doesn’t know who “her” is, and it’s even <em>less</em> fine a year later when she calls again to inform Shirley that college itself “doesn’t feel like her” now so she’s dropping out and telling Shirley that there’s nothing she can do to convince her otherwise and even though she’s right, there isn’t, Shirley tries anyway.</p><p> </p><p>The next time Shirley sees Steve she tells him, “Someone should have been looking,” and he shrugs again and tells her, “You were, and it happened anyway.”</p><p> </p><p>Shirley supposes it’s because she didn’t look hard enough.</p><p> </p><p>(It always comes down to <em> enough</em>.)</p><p> </p><p>(And all the terrible things that happen when Shirley <em> isn’t</em>.)</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>“Please tell me you’re not seriously here right now.”</p><p> </p><p>It’s three o’clock in the morning and Shirley stands shivering from the winter chill coming in through her open door. She’s staring at Luke, who is standing on her doorstep and shivering, too, but not from the cold, and she knows he must have been desperate to come to her at home but she doesn’t care, she’s just angry, so she tells him, “You’re supposed to be at the center. You know, the one I’m paying for. Please tell me that’s where you actually are right now because I know— I <em> know— </em>you aren’t stupid enough to come knock on my door in the middle of the night after I just cut a check for your stay at the the second center this year.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know, I know, Shirley, I know. And I’m sorry, okay, I— I screwed up, I know I did, but— I just need a favor, okay, just one favor— just one more— and then I promise I won’t ask again. <em> Ever</em>, okay? I just, I need another loan— ”</p><p> </p><p>“So you came here. High. At three o’clock in the morning. To <em> my </em> fucking house. Where I live with my fucking kids— my <em> kids</em>, Luke, my <em> fucking kids</em>— and you’re seriously standing there, asking me for a <em> loan</em>— ” Shirley’s voice is getting higher and higher, louder and louder, so she stops, wraps her robe tighter around herself, and steps outside, closing the door softly behind her. “What is it this time? You need money to hitch a ride to Mass Ave? You need me to cosign on another apartment, need me to cover your overdraft fees, your credit card payments, your trip to the emergency room?” She laughs and it’s a hollow, brittle sound. “No. No. Here’s what I’m going to do for you this time,” Shirley tells him, harsh and matter-of-fact. “I’m going to put you in my car and drive you to the motel down the road. I’m going to buy you a room for one night. One night, Luke. One night is all you get. And you’re going to get your shit together. I’m going to call the center in the morning and pray to fucking <em> God </em> that they will take you back and if they do, you’re going to get your shit together and go so we can try this again.”</p><p> </p><p>The ride is tense and silent and over before Shirley realizes it, and as Luke is walking into his room and Shirley is shutting the door behind him she stops and says it one more time, says it again as if saying it will speak it into reality: “Get your fucking shit together, Luke,” and slams the door. </p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>The first few months after they move in to Aunt Janet’s, Luke and Nell sleep in Shirley’s room.</p><p> </p><p>Shirley’s room is in the repurposed attic and the twins’ room is a floor below but every night they manage to make the journey without fail and Shirley doesn’t mind. </p><p> </p><p>(None of them are keen to be alone in the dark, at first, anyway.)</p><p> </p><p>Shirley pulls the covers up over them and asks them if they want her to read them a story and they always do so she always does, and after they’ve fallen asleep she’ll lay there and watch them and she’ll get so angry, <em> so angry</em>, so angry that she’s terrified she’ll wake them up with the heat of it pulsing beneath her skin. And she doesn’t know why, really, only that the anger is easier to feel than the emptiness of it all because the anger isn’t as heavy. So she feels it and feels it and feels it every night until she falls asleep, and part of her wonders if she’ll ever be able to sleep without it.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you think she’s coming back?” Luke asks her one night, a hushed, half-asleep whisper. “Abigail came back.”</p><p> </p><p>“No, Luke,” Shirley, in her anger, tells him. “Abigail isn’t real. Mom was. You were at the funeral. You know she isn’t coming back.” Then Shirley remembers that Luke is only six, and Shirley remembers that it’s her job to take care of him— and Shirley remembers that that means even when she doesn’t want to, that that means <em> all the time</em>, that that means <em> forever</em>. So she swallows the anger and says, “But I’m real. And I’ll always be here. And Steve and Theo and Nellie are real, too. And we’ll always have each other. Okay?” Shirley believes it, then: Shirley believes it before she knows better.</p><p> </p><p>And she knows that Luke does too because he nods and grabs her hand. “Okay,” he says, and falls asleep.</p><p> </p><p>It’s the most important promise she ever makes to Luke.</p><p> </p><p>(And it’s also the first one she breaks.)</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>“She was broken,” Theo tells her, eyes wet and full of fear. </p><p> </p><p>They have seconds alone together before Aunt Janet and their father come to get them for the funeral and Shirley spends those seconds asking Theo why she’s so afraid to go because that’s what big sisters do, they take their little sister’s fears and they look them in the face even when they’re scared, too. “She was <em> broken</em>.” Theo is shaking and her voice is low and serious and frightened and Shirley wants to reach for her but she doesn’t, she doesn’t— she just listens from a distance, instead, she listens and she doesn’t understand. “I don’t want to see her like that,” Theo says. “Not again.” She shakes her head, face crumpling. “Not again.”</p><p> </p><p>Shirley’s heart is in her throat and she’s searching for the right words to say but she’s stuck on the not understanding, she’s stuck on the word <em> broken</em>. “What— what do you mean?” she asks, because she’s looking at it, she’s looking at it right in the face but Theo’s fear is infecting her too, now, and it’s that shared fear in her veins that’s making her pulse race as she wonders for the first time what exactly daddy meant when he told them all that mommy <em> fell</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“I saw her, Shirley. I saw her,” Theo answers, the tears running freely down her face even as her voice becomes steadier, her fear taking shape and growing more solid until it’s an almost palpable thing between them, slowing her words and filling them with a dreadful and unbearable weight, and Shirley doesn’t want to look at it now but she can’t look away, either. “There was blood. <em> So much</em>. And her face,” Theo starts, breaths coming fast and shallow again as Shirley watches her struggle to find the words, “her <em>face </em> was— ”</p><p> </p><p>And then Aunt Janet is opening the door to the room and taking Theo and Shirley gently by the arm and guiding them to the car and that’s it, it’s over, Shirley doesn’t get to know what Theo saw and Theo doesn’t get to finish telling her. They’re pulling into the funeral home and Shirley is left with nothing other than the knowledge that <em> mommy fell </em> and <em> mommy died </em> and somewhere in between those two events or maybe sometime after, <em> mommy bled </em> and <em> mommy broke</em>, and Shirley doesn’t want to see her like that, Shirley doesn’t want to look.</p><p> </p><p>But somehow she’s walking up the aisle anyway with the man who isn’t her father and she’s looking, she’s looking at the open casket even though she doesn’t want to, and—</p><p> </p><p>Mommy isn’t broken. Mommy isn’t bleeding. Mommy is— “You fixed her.”</p><p> </p><p>Theo doesn’t have to be scared anymore, Shirley thinks, and a sudden flood of relief washes away all the other things.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s what I do,” he says, and it changes Shirley’s life in an instant, those four words.</p><p> </p><p>Because if dead things can be fixed then that means that one day Shirley can learn to fix them, too: she can learn to fix them so they won’t be scary anymore. And if they aren’t scary then no one will ever have to be afraid to look at them, and Shirley can do for others the one thing she wasn’t able to do for her sister.</p><p> </p><p>She can look first.</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>“Why did you pick me?” Shirley questions him one night. They’re lying side by side in their new bed in their new apartment and it’s the first night of their new life together and suddenly she has to know.</p><p> </p><p>“What do you mean?” Kevin asks her, understanding her well enough now after three years to know that this happens sometimes, the heavy things, especially at night.</p><p> </p><p>“I <em> mean</em>, you were the hot transfer kid. Half our class was into you. You were new and exciting. You could have had anyone,” she explains, presenting him with the facts. “Isn’t it sort of a red flag that you went after someone like me?”</p><p> </p><p>“Hot transfer kid,” Kevin echoes with a laugh. “Yeah, right. First of all, I told you, I didn’t know anything about you or your family when I met you.” He shrugs. “And second of all, isn’t it a little late for red flags?” he teases, and she hits him.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Kevin</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“Alright, alright.” He shifts, takes a deep breath. “Honestly, Shirley,” Kevin begins, splaying his hands under the covers, “I don’t think it works like that. Picking and choosing. I think sometimes things just happen. There doesn’t always have to be a reason. Sometimes people are just in the right place at the right time with the right person. And I’m not saying every day with you since the day I met you has been perfect, but it <em> has </em> been, I dunno, <em> right</em>.” He reaches for her hand and when he finds it holds it tight. He brushes his thumb over her engagement ring. “And like I said, I don’t think it’s about picking and choosing, but if it was,” he turns to look at her, “picking you is a choice I’m happy to make every single day for as long as you’ll let me.”</p><p> </p><p>Shirley’s throat tightens and she says nothing. </p><p> </p><p>(She grips his hand like a lifeline and she thinks she’ll let him forever.)</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>It’s the middle of the night and Shirley yawns and stretches as she shuffles her feet to the room at the end of the hall. She’s awake because the baby is crying. Of course. The baby is crying and Shirley is up this time because Kevin got up the last time so it’s her turn. They’re taking turns again just like they did with Jayden. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” she calls out, and she opens the door to the nursery. That’s right. The room at the end of the hall is a nursery. </p><p> </p><p>She reaches for the lamp on the table by the crib and fumbles with the switch. The light won’t turn on and there isn’t any time to waste because the baby is crying— the baby is crying and it’s her turn— so Shirley abandons the lamp and stumbles forward to reach for the crib in the dark, her steps guided by the muted moonlight filtering in through blinds she thought she’d closed.</p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t notice the figure sitting in the rocking chair at first until she hears, “Don’t worry, Shirley. I got her,” and she stills at the sound of her mother’s voice. Shirley turns slowly to the chair beside the crib and the shape of her mother becomes clearer against the shadows and Shirley wishes she could look away.</p><p> </p><p>(But Shirley has to look.)</p><p> </p><p>“She just needed a tighter swaddle,” Olivia explains, chucking the baby under the chin as she holds her to her chest and slowly rocks her back and forth in the chair. “The tighter you wrap it the safer they feel, you know. I never got the chance to teach you that.” </p><p> </p><p><em> Wake up wake up wake up</em>, Shirley screams from somewhere inside her head. <em> Wake up wake up wake up wake up</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m so glad it’s a girl.” She looks up at Shirley and her face turns gray and the blood in her veins fades to black and Shirley can see it pulsating beneath her skin in a ghastly webbing, that same mottled blackness apparent on her teeth, too, when she opens her mouth and smiles too wide and says too loud, “The girls in our family are special.”</p><p> </p><p>Shirley jolts awake and ignores Kevin’s sleepy attempts to comfort her. She runs straight to the bathroom and doesn’t even bother to turn the lights on before she flips up the toilet seat and vomits.</p><p> </p><p>Later, when the pregnancy test she takes is positive, Shirley tells herself the dream was just a coincidence.</p><p> </p><p>When they learn that the baby is a girl Shirley calls it a coincidence again and she reminds herself of that over and over and over and she almost believes it, she really does, until she tells Theo.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, that’ll be interesting,” Theo mumbles, almost to herself.</p><p> </p><p>“What do you mean?” Shirley asks.</p><p> </p><p>“Nothing,” Theo says with a dismissive wave. “I was just thinking about something mom said.”</p><p> </p><p>Shirley’s skin prickles with gooseflesh and she swallows. “What?”</p><p> </p><p>Theo rolls her eyes and assures her sister, “Really, Shirley, it’s nothing.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, so if it’s nothing, then it doesn’t matter if you tell me.”</p><p> </p><p>"You're just going to be weird about it," she complains, but Shirley isn't budging and Theo doesn’t want to argue so she admits defeat with an exaggerated sigh and says, “She told me once that the women in our family are special. <em> Sensitive</em>, I think, was the word she used.”</p><p> </p><p>“What the fuck does <em> that </em> mean?” Shirley bites back, claws out, and she hears it in their mother’s voice again and she sees it coming out from between those black and smiling teeth again, those same words, the ones from the dream that she told herself was just a coincidence.</p><p> </p><p>Theo swallows the <em>I told you so </em>on the tip of her tongue and says instead, “Jesus, Shirley, relax. I told you it’s nothing. It was a <em>long</em> time ago.” </p><p> </p><p>But Shirley doesn’t relax.</p><p> </p><p>Because it wasn't.</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>When Allie is about a year old they start their family business in earnest and move into their new home.</p><p> </p><p>(Their <em> forever house</em>, Shirley can’t help but call it in her head.)</p><p> </p><p>She tells Kevin that they have to buy something that’s a new build and he respects that condition of hers just like he respects all of Shirley’s conditions, so they find a home that was built within the last decade even though it’s pushing their budget and it’s perfect. It’s perfect.</p><p> </p><p>It’s perfect, despite the strange feeling that Shirley gets when they’re touring the property for the first time and she walks up the stairs to explore the second floor— it’s perfect despite the fact that as Shirley walks from the master bedroom to the room at the end of the hall she feels like somehow she’s been here before.</p><p> </p><p>“This room could be used as a nursery,” the realtor suggests.</p><p> </p><p>(It’s just a coincidence, Shirley tells herself.)</p><p> </p><p>(And she wants it to be perfect so she doesn’t look any further behind the door inside her head where all the <em> coincidences </em> live.)</p><p> </p><p>(And when they move in it stays perfect because Shirley never looks.)</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>“It’s perfect,” Theo says, “but a little morbid, don’t you think?”</p><p> </p><p>Shirley’s smile hardens. “No, Theodora, I don’t. I think it’s a nice fucking— ”</p><p> </p><p>“You got it just right,” Nell interrupts them before they can fight, tracing the outline of the roof with her fingers. She travels the length of the model with her hand until she gets to the corner where their mother’s photo is and then she stops, wistful. “Mom would have loved it.” She drags her gaze away from the picture and looks at Shirley with misty eyes. “It’s beautiful, Shirley.” All three of them are silent for a moment until Nell shakes her head and laughs, soft and emotional. “You even remembered her porch light. The one she’d use to call us home.”</p><p> </p><p>Theo rolls her eyes and walks out of the room. “Alright, that’s enough for me. You two have fun,” she calls over her shoulder. </p><p> </p><p>“She just— ” Nell starts, sighing after Theo’s exit and turning to Shirley, “You know Theo. I’m sure she appreciates it, too. In her way.”</p><p> </p><p>Shirley isn’t convinced, arms folded defensively across her chest as she steps around Nell and sits back at her desk. She doesn’t say anything else.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, so I haven’t seen you much since you got back from your conference,” Nell says, taking the seat across from her. “Do you want to get lunch or something? I can give you the grand tour of my new apartment afterward. It’s no forever house or anything, but it’s not your guest house, at least,” she jokes with a lopsided smile. When Shirley doesn’t answer immediately Nell is quick to add, “Not that I’m not grateful— like, <em> immensely </em> grateful— to you for letting me stay here again these past few weeks while I get back on my feet with this new job and everything, but— and, actually,” she sidebars, “if I’m being honest, the master <em> closet </em> in your guest house is definitely nicer than my new bedroom and kitchen and bathroom combined, so it's not like you're missing anyth— ”</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry, Nellie,” Shirley says, and it’s a little stiffer, a little sharper, than she intends. “I just have a lot to catch up on. But,” she offers, immediately feeling guilty, “maybe this weekend? I’d love to see your new place.” </p><p> </p><p>“This weekend,” Nell confirms with a nod. “Okay. Yeah! Sounds like a plan.”</p><p> </p><p>Shirley stays in her office for a long time after Nell leaves. She doesn’t get caught up on her work.</p><p> </p><p>She stares and stares and stares at the model she built of the forever house and wonders for the thousandth time why she did it— <em> why why why </em>did she do this— because if she’s being totally honest with herself she still doesn’t entirely know why, only that it was the first thing she could think to do when she got back two weeks ago and practically the only thing she’s been able to focus on since.</p><p> </p><p>(Shirley can’t decide if her decision to build it— her decision to build it and put it in her office to look at it every single day— is a promise or a punishment.)</p><p> </p><p>(She thinks, maybe, it’s both.)</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>It’s a few months before Allie starts sleeping well in the new house.</p><p> </p><p>So when Shirley goes to wake Allie up from her afternoon nap one day during their first week there, she isn’t surprised to find that her daughter is already awake. She is surprised, however, to find her standing up and pointing at the empty chair beside the crib. And she’s babbling and it’s nonsensical because she’s only a dozen or so months old and she’s in that tender place between <em> baby </em> and <em> toddler </em> but if Shirley didn’t know any better she’d say that it sounded like Allie was—</p><p> </p><p>No. Shirley <em> does </em> know better.</p><p> </p><p>So Shirley ignores the déjà vu creeping under her skin and she picks Allie up and she holds her tight. </p><p> </p><p>(But even though she knows better she can’t stop the fear, she can’t stop the hairs on the back of her neck from standing on end, she can’t stop herself from thinking about what Theo said and about what it might mean for Allie.)</p><p> </p><p>(About what it already meant.)</p><p> </p><p>The next time it happens Theo is over for dinner and they’re all in the family room and suddenly Allie puts down her toys and looks at the empty chair in the corner as if she’s expecting someone to sit in it. Shirley glances around to see if anyone has noticed and when she is certain that no one has she forces herself to ignore it.</p><p> </p><p>But she can’t ignore it later, after Kevin has gone to get Jayden ready for bed and Theo and Shirley and Allie are alone in the family room. She can’t ignore it because Allie starts babbling the same nonsensical language from earlier in her crib, and then she starts pointing again, too, right at the empty chair, and Shirley panics and forgets for a second that Theo is still here, and she surges forward to distract her, to snap her fingers in front of Allie’s face once twice three times and call her name so loud that she starts to cry, and it’s when the crying starts that Shirley remembers Theo is still here, and Theo saw everything. </p><p> </p><p>Theo lifts her brows and blinks slowly at the entire exchange. “I’m sorry,” she says, “do you want to tell me what the fuck just happened?”</p><p> </p><p>“She’s been— <em> doing </em> that lately,” Shirley explains with a sigh as she gathers Allie up in her arms and attempts to soothe her. “Staring and pointing and— and <em> talking </em>to empty chairs, and I— ” </p><p> </p><p>“You’re supposed to be doing better. Right?” Theo reminds her. “Isn’t that what you said?”</p><p> </p><p>Shirley shoots her a look.</p><p> </p><p>“How is this better?” Theo asks. “She’s a kid, Shirl. Sometimes kids stare and point and talk and it doesn’t have to mean anything. Maybe you could try not losing your shit every time she does. <em> That </em> would be better.” She takes a sip from her glass of wine. “You weren’t like this with Jayden.”</p><p> </p><p>“Allie isn’t Jayden,” is all Shirley says.</p><p> </p><p>Theo studies her. “Hold on, is this because of the thing mom said?” When Shirley doesn’t answer Theo groans and says, “Shirley, I told you that was nothing. You have <em> got </em> to learn to let shit go. Especially mom shit.”</p><p> </p><p>“What is that supposed to mean?” Shirley demands (because the anger is easier, the anger is always easier).</p><p> </p><p>“It means,” Theo begins, standing up and crossing the distance between them, “don’t give mom any more power over us than she already has.” She removes a glove and reaches out to brush her thumb over one of Allie’s tiny hands. “She’s tired,” Theo announces, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “That’s all. It’s hard to sleep in new places, at first.” She shares a knowing look with Shirley and withdraws, both her hand and her point.</p><p> </p><p>Shirley nods and takes a deep breath. </p><p> </p><p>(<em>Do better, </em> she tells herself.)</p><p> </p><p>And for the first time in her life she thinks that maybe Steve is right. </p><p> </p><p>Maybe she should stop looking so hard.</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>“I wasn’t looking for anything when I met your father,” Olivia tells Shirley one night as she braids her hair before bed. “But we met and that was it. Sometimes things just happen that way.”</p><p> </p><p>Shirley grins and nods as if, at eight years old, she understands. They’re working on a house in Ohio this summer and Shirley has her own room this time, and as she’s getting ready for bed she asks her mother again to tell her the story of how she and her father met because it’s her favorite story even though there isn’t much to it, even though she already knows it by heart beginning, middle, and end. But Shirley is a romantic so Shirley always asks, and because Olivia is a romantic, too, Olivia always tells her.</p><p> </p><p>“Was it love at first sight?” Shirley has heard the story a thousand times but this is the first time she interrupts with a question like that.</p><p> </p><p>Olivia is silent for a moment; thoughtful. “No,” she says, finally. “No, it wasn’t. And we’ll talk more about this when you get older, Shirley, but I don’t think love is like that.” </p><p> </p><p>Shirley thinks she is old enough to talk about love now and asks, impatiently, “Then what is it like?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, love is a lot of things,” Olivia finishes her braid and takes a seat beside her on her bed. “And maybe it happens like that for some people— all at once. And the first time you look at someone, you know. But,” she continues, seriously, “for most people, love takes time. And it’s a lot of work. Good work,” she says, smiling at her. “The <em> best </em> work. But it <em> is </em> work. You learn the best ways to take care of someone and they learn the best ways to take care of you in return.”</p><p><br/>
Shirley frowns and wrinkles her nose. “That’s it?”</p><p> </p><p>Olivia shakes her head and laughs. "No," she says, “and yes,” and Shirley can’t understand why she’s laughing because Shirley doesn’t think any of this is particularly funny and she only wants to be taken seriously and given a serious answer. But Olivia just kisses her on the forehead and rises from the bed to leave, and when she stops to linger in the doorway she tells Shirley again, “We’ll talk more about this when you’re older. Goodnight, honey.” And she turns off the light.</p><p> </p><p>Shirley doesn’t sleep for a long while after that. She lies awake and thinks about it, about this idea of <em> love </em> and <em> work</em>, and she thinks that maybe she’ll never understand it.</p><p> </p><p>(She almost can't believe it when one day, years later, she does.)</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>“I’m so happy for them,” Shirley tells Theo sometime after the ball has dropped and Arthur and Nell are engaged and she’s a respectable one glass of champagne into the new year. “I’m so happy for <em> her</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Theo, who is on her somewhat less-respectable third glass of champagne, grins and nods, eyes shining. “Me too. God, me too.”</p><p> </p><p>Shirley sighs, contented, as she watches Nell preen under the attention of her friends, moving from cluster to cluster to show off her engagement ring. There is laughter and there are tears and there are feelings, lots and lots of feelings, and all of them are big and happy and hopeful, and all of them are safe. </p><p> </p><p>“I think she’s gonna be okay,” Shirley says, and it’s the first time she says those words out loud about Nellie and believes them. “I really think she’s gonna be okay.”</p><p> </p><p>“She will be,” Theo confirms. “Nellie may not always know how to take care of herself, but the two of them together— ”</p><p> </p><p>“They know the best ways to take care of each other,” Shirley finishes for her, softly. </p><p> </p><p>“Sure, that’s one way to put it.” Theo drains the rest of her glass and glances at Shirley’s. “I’m going for one more. Can I get you another?”</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Shirley says, distantly. “No, I’m good. Thanks.”</p><p> </p><p>And after Theo walks away Shirley takes the last sip from her own glass and watches Kevin from across the room, watches him and loves him and hurts and hurts and hurts because she finally gets it, she finally understands, and it’s too late.</p><p> </p><p>Olivia was right. Love and work go hand in hand, and maybe it’s because they never got to talk about it when she got older but it’s too late for Shirley, now— she never got it right.</p><p> </p><p>Shirley looks at Nellie and is grateful, at least, that one of them did.</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>“It’s going to take a lot of work,” Shirley says, and her voice doesn’t shake even though the rest of her does after what they’ve all seen at the house, after what they’ve all heard from Steve, “but we can come back from this. We can.” She looks around the hospital room at all of them, face tight, and then back at Luke. She takes his hand. “We have to.”</p><p> </p><p>And they do.</p><p> </p><p>(And the work is hard but so is the love, and that’s how Shirley knows they did it right.)</p><p> </p><p>-<br/>
<br/>
Shirley can’t stop taking pictures after that fall.</p><p> </p><p>She used to think that she could freeze a moment if she took its picture. She could hold it in her hands and she wouldn’t have to let it go. </p><p> </p><p>Shirley never wanted to let anything go, even the things that were already gone. Especially those. In fact, she was so afraid to let those things go that she forgot to hold onto the things that were left. She thought she was holding them— she thought she was holding them tight enough to keep them safe— but there’s a difference, she realized, between holding and <em> crushing</em>, and when you crush something you lose it, too. </p><p> </p><p>Her eyes move around the room in a circle from Steve to Leigh to Kevin to Luke to Trish to Theo then back to Steve, and Shirley finally understands that she doesn’t need to hold or crush or freeze this moment to know that it’s safe, to know that she can keep it. </p><p> </p><p>(She doesn’t need to dig her claws into it to make it stay.)</p><p> </p><p>She can’t stop taking pictures anyway, though.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Shirley</em>, I have frosting on my teeth,” Theo whines, ducking her head from Shirley’s camera, the new one Kevin bought her for their anniversary last year, the one she hasn’t put down since.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s perfect,” Shirley says. She snaps a picture of Theo’s cheeky grin and Trish’s cascade of giggles and Luke’s shy pride and Kevin’s brilliant smile and Steve and Leigh’s hands knotted together and she says it again, that word that used to be the name of the monster on her chest: “<em>Perfect</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>And she means that <em> this </em> is perfect, that <em> they </em> are. They never weren’t.</p><p> </p><p>Because what they all once thought was broken has always been perfect, in spite of the cracks.</p><p> </p><p> (Maybe even <em> with </em> them). </p><p> </p><p>Later, when the pictures are developed and the kids are asleep and the two of them are sitting together on the couch with glasses of wine, Kevin looks on as Shirley places each one carefully in her newest scrapbook. He notices when she stops to study one in particular and asks, “What is it?”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s just our eyes in this one, the group photo,” Shirley says, voice thick and face warm. “Our eyes are so bright.”</p><p> </p><p>He launches immediately into problem-solving mode with, “We could load it into the computer and try to— ”</p><p> </p><p>“No, no,” Shirley laughs, shaking her head. “It’s good,” she tells him. She looks up at him and smiles, then back at the photograph in her hands. “I’ve seen it before. My mom and dad used to get this look in their eyes when they got inspired. This same look. It was bright, like this. Like a spark. And all of us knew that whenever they got that look, that was it. They were going to build something together and it was going to be incredible. It always was. And it could be anything. Like, flipping a house. Or,” she says, thinking back to the last time she saw that look, that day with the picture of the garden at Hill House, “starting a family business. And I remember thinking, as a little girl, that that spark— that brightness— was just about the most beautiful thing in the world. The most amazing thing. Because it was theirs. And I wanted more than anything for it to be mine, too.” She smoothes the photo down into its place on the page. “But it always was,” she tells him. “It was always mine. And theirs,” Shirley says, staring at the picture of her family. “And ours. This picture proves it.” She reaches for Kevin’s hand. “I just had to look.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hey,” Kevin says after a moment, smiling as he remembers something that she told him once, a long time ago, “that was a good one.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Shirley realizes. “Yeah, it was.” She closes the scrapbook and sets it back on the shelf along with the others, with the ones she finally brought out of storage, the ones that her dad had gone back for all those years ago. And they’re displayed proudly, now, all of them together. And there are no more unpacked boxes, and there are no more locked doors.</p><p> </p><p>And when Shirley turns around she’s beaming. “I guess they aren’t so heavy anymore,” she says, and floats back to join her husband on the couch, lighter than air.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>